


i'm in peril they wanna give me hell

by ShyAudacity



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archie Andrews is a Good Friend, Blood and Injury, Drunk FP Jones II, Fred just needs to adopt everyone already, Gen, Good Parent Fred Andrews, Hospitals, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentioned Penny Peabody, No Romance, Protective Fred Andrews, Vomiting, Whump, Worry, he loves all his children but jughead in particular, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity
Summary: Fred opens the front door, peering into the living room, and his worrying increases at the sight of his son and friends.Archie is cradling a passed-out Jughead across his lap in the same way that you would hold a child, his head supported by the crook of Archie’s arm. He’s holding a small towel to Jughead’s mouth while Betty holds Jughead’s free hand that’s hanging off the side of the couch, looking as though she could begin to cry at any second.Fred is at a loss for words. This scene in front of him rattles him to his core. He’s never been very good under pressure, but he’s gotta keep a level head right now.His kids need him.ORJughead gets hurt and Fred comes to the rescue. Some feelings follow.





	i'm in peril they wanna give me hell

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started out as a fic for an entirely different fandom and somehow we ended up here. Weird.
> 
> Unbeta'd and title from 21st Century Machine by Catie Turner.

Fred pulls his truck into the driveway and finds himself in a state of worry. Not unusual for him, but still unpleasant, all the same.  

He’d just been finishing up at the new construction site when his phone started going off, a litany of texts and missed calls from Archie and Betty. All of them begging him to come home as soon as he could, saying that something had happened to Jughead and neither of them knew what to do.

Just another Wednesday in Riverdale, it seems.

Fred opens the front door, peering into the living room, and his worrying increases at the sight of his son and friends.

Archie is cradling a passed-out Jughead across his lap in the same way that you would hold a child, his head supported by the crook of Archie’s arm. He’s holding a small towel to Jughead’s mouth while Betty holds Jughead’s free hand that’s hanging off the side of the couch, looking as though she could begin to cry at any second.

Fred is at a loss for words. This scene in front of him rattles him to his core. He’s never been very good under pressure, but he’s gotta keep a level head right now.

His kids need him.

Archie looks up at Fred when he approaches. “He just showed up like this, h-he blacked out almost as soon as he walked through the door. We didn’t know what else to do.”

“Did you call his dad?”

“We both did,” Betty says, voice watery, “We tried a dozen times, there was no answer.”

Fred nods then moves in closer and begins to assess the situation.

He takes in all of Jughead’s injuries, making a mental list. His light gray t-shirt is ripped near his ribcage, splotches of red staining it. He’s got a bloody lip and a cut just below his eyebrow, slowly oozing down the side of his face. All of Jughead’s knuckles are bruised and battered.

“It looks like he got jumped, and knowing Jug, he probably tried fighting back at least a little.”

“Who would do that?” Archie asks.

“I don’t know, Arch. Will you help me take off his shirt? Betty, can you go grab a couple of blankets and some water, please?”

She nods, scurrying away. Carefully, Fred and Archie ease off his shirt, listening as Jughead groans when he begins to regain some consciousness, only to fall under again.

Fred keeps hoping to himself that this isn’t near as bad as it looks.

The two of them finally get his shirt off, and both of them wince at the sight of it. Jughead’s abdomen is more bruise than skin, and he’s got a gash at the edge of his ribcage, bleeding sluggishly. Betty gasps when she comes back into the room, nearly dropping the blanket in her hands; she moves to Jughead’s side, taking his hand again.

Fred looks up at the both of them. “Do you guys have any idea as to who might have done this to him?” 

“N-no,” Archie stammers.

Almost as if to have awoken by the sound people talking above him, Jughead begins to stir in Archie’s hold. His eyes flutter and his hand twitches.

Fred moves closer to Archie, one knee resting against the couch. “Jughead, can you hear me?”

A second later, his eyes opened into slits; a whine left his mouth.

“Hey kid, you with us?” He asked, his response was half a nod. “Betty, do you mind letting go of his hand for a minute? I need to try something. Jug, can you squeeze my hands as tight as you can for me? I know you’re tired, but I need to make sure you’re alright, understand?”

Jughead nodded feebly, squeezing Fred’s hand.

“Good, that’s good Jughead. I’m going to touch your feet now, I need you to tell me if anything hurts down here, alright?” He says, sitting halfway on the couch, then reaching for Jughead’s ankles.

First, he tries the right side, pushing against Jughead’s foot and bending his knee then setting it back down again. Then, as Fred tries to curl his hand around his left ankle, Jughead jerks it away and hisses.

“Did that hurt, Jug?”

He nods; Fred looks up at Archie, concerned.

“It might be broken, we can’t risk him walking around on it injured and making it worse. He has to go to the hospital.”

“I didn’t” Jughead mumbles beneath him. “D’n’t tell him.”

Fred furrows his brow, looking at Betty and Archie with a confused face; they give him the same one right back. He’s not making any sense.

“Jughead, can you tell me how you got here? Or where you were before that?” he asked.

Jughead groans again, pressing the side of his face into Archie’s arm; his features are pinched in pain still. 

“We were supposed to meet at Pop’s after school,” Betty says, filling in the blanks, “He had something he wanted to show me, for the blue and gold, but he never came. Archie called me when he showed up here. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

Jughead whines, then mumbles again, “Didn’t, didn’t tell an’one”

“Didn’t tell anyone what, kiddo?” Fred tries, squeezing Jughead’s knee. “Do you know where you are right now?”

Suddenly, his foggy eyes opened fully for the first time since gaining consciousness and his face paled. Jughead pushed himself out of Archie’s hold in a pathetic matter, nearly tripping over Betty as he darted into the bathroom. Fred and Betty both get to their feet ready to help when the door slams in their faces

A chorus of retching sounds come from inside the bathroom for a long while before the door opens again. Jughead is leaning against the doorway, looking sallower and more exhausted than any of them have ever seen him. Fred has a sick feeling that this is going to go south _real quick_ if he doesn’t do _something_.  

Fred steps forward, looking wearily at the teen in front of him. “Jug? …Jughead, are you okay?”

It takes a second, but Jughead looks up at him, breathing heavily. His lip is bleeding again, the cut under his eyebrow is still making a steady track down the side of his face. He nods, half-assed at best.

Fred steps towards him again, holding his hands out, palm up. The last thing he wants to do right now is scare Jughead more than he already is.

“Listen, I’m going to help you out to the truck, okay? I know you probably don’t want to, but I need to get you to the hospital. I think your foot is broken and you have a nasty gash that is more than likely going to need stitches. Just as well, we need to make sure that you don’t have a concussion. Do you understand?”

Jughead nods faintly, a sad look growing upon his face. “I’m sorry… m’sorry, Mr. A.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay… it’s not your fault, Jug.” Fred says as calmly as he can. He looks back at Archie and Betty, motioning for them to come forward before putting an arm around Jughead’s waist, mindful of his injury. He digs his keys out of his pocket, tossing them to Archie. 

“Archie, go start the car- Betty, will you give me a little help getting his shirt back on?”

By some scrap of luck, there’s an old t-shirt of Archie’s hanging up in the hall closet. Fred helps Jughead pull it over his head without aggravating his ribs too much while Betty keeps him steady, just in case his legs give out or he blacks out again.

Fred keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to wrong in even the slightest way. They get halfway to the car when it finally does. Jughead eventually comes to his senses and starts to realize what’s happening, where they’re all going, more specifically.

He tries pulling away from Fred and Betty.

“No, I don’t- I don’t wanna go.” he whines, small and childlike. “Please, please, Fred, _I can’t_ -.”

“Jug, kiddo, I know you’re worried but this is the best thing for you. You need more help than we can give you here. We’ll try your Dad again on the way there, alright? Just keep with us a little longer.”

Despite still looking distressed, Jughead lets Fred put him into the backseat, then doesn’t protest when Archie and Betty climb in on either side of him. Fred gets into the front, trying to keep his own nerves settled as he drives off towards Riverdale General.

He keeps going over all the people he knows in this town, anyone who might a grudge against a teenaged kid. Sure, Jughead does have a smart mouth on him, lord knows that Fred’s been on the receiving end of it more than once. But this? With the way that Jughead was hurt- the things he was saying- this can’t be a coincidence. This act of violence was methodical.

This act of violence is also causing a seventeen-year-old to hyperventilate in the back seat of his car.

Fred skirts a glance to his rearview mirror, noticing how Jughead has begun to sweat as he breathes erratically.

“Hey, Jughead, just try to calm down, okay? We’re nearly there.” Archie says, pulling him closer.

“I wasn’t- I thought-.”

“It’s okay, Juggie,” Betty interjects, squeezing his hand. “We know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“N-No, I thought- thought I was at _the trailer_.”

Another whine leaves his throat; the car goes quiet except for Jughead’s panicked breathing and Fred feels his blood run cold again. He presses on the gas a little harder, eager to get there and figure out what the hell happened. Fred picks up his phone from the cupholder, dialing the old number he’s known for years; by some miracle, it picks up on the first ring.

“FP, it’s Fred. Something happened to Jughead.”

///

The emergency room is appropriately empty for four-thirty in the middle of the week.

Jughead is only moderately more lucid than he was when Fred checked him out; he doesn’t doubt that it’s pure adrenaline keeping him conscious at this point. He ignores the nurse’s questions about what happened, grunts and groans when she touches something that hurts him. Six stitches above his eye, a few more in the gash on his ribs and a small fracture in his ankle; Archie and Betty stay by his side the entire time he's being tended to, keeping him calm.

FP shows up just as the nurse leaves to find Jughead an ankle brace, and even from a few feet away Fred can smell the booze.

It makes his blood _boil_.

Fred grabs FP by the arm before he can go past the curtain, before Jughead can see him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Gon’ go see my son, the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re not going in there like this, Jug's already beaten up, the last thing he needs is seeing you drunk right now.”

“Don’t give me that high and mighty crap, Freddie. Need I remind you, _I’m_ the one you called when you got picked up for a DUI a few years back.”

Fred huffs lightly; he’s not proud of that night, not in the slightest. The two of them hadn’t talked about it since then, and in all honesty, Fred was hoping it would never come up again. It’s dirty-handed, bringing that up in a moment like this, trying to paint Fred like the bad dad when FP wouldn’t even answer his phone until half an hour ago. He gets interrupted before he can give a rebuttal.

“Mr. Andrews?” Betty asks, sheepishly.

“Yes, Betty? What is it?”

“My mom uh- oh, hi, Mr. Jones- my mom keeps calling me, I need to go home. Do you mind-?”

“No, not at all. I’ll have Archie send you an update later, alright?”   

She nods before walking away, throwing a concerned glance over your shoulder as she does.

Fred’s face hardens as he looks back at FP; he’d scream at him if he wasn’t sure that their kids were within earshot.

“You gonna let me through or what?” FP spits, raising his eyebrows in a _do you really wanna fight me on this right now_ kind of way.

Fred considers it for a long moment; it’s not like he can keep FP away from Jughead forever, much as he might like to some days. He takes a step back, then follows FP into the small room.

Jughead’s sitting up and talking to Archie when they go in, has a little more color in his cheeks than he did before. It’s relieving, in a small way.

“Dad? What are you-.”

“Fred called me, said you got yourself into a bit of trouble. Looks like someone roughed you up pretty good.”

Jughead drops his gaze, eyes focused on the floor.

“You gonna tell me who it was?”

“FP-.”

“It’s just a question, Fred… c’mon, Jughead, just tell me. Was it someone from the southside? One of the ghoulies?”

He nods, not looking at either of them; FP curses under his breath.

“Those sons of bitches, I swear I’ll-.”

“Jughead can come home with us for a few days, till whatever this is blows over,” Fred says, not wanting to hear the rest of FP’s sentence. “Sound good?”

FP looks annoyed but doesn’t fight it. He just glances at Jughead waiting for some sort of response.

“That what you want Jughead?”

Jughead nods numbly, not looking at either of them; Fred can practically feel the fear radiating off of him.

“Alright then,” FP says, stiffly, “Let’s get you checked out then, no use just sitting around here.”

He stalks off towards the nurse’s desk; Fred looks back to Jughead, watches as he rests his head against Archie’s shoulder. _They’re just a couple of kids_ , he tells himself, _they shouldn’t have to deal with this._

“Come on, fellas,” he says, gently, “Let’s go home.”

Fred continues to hover as FP fills out the paperwork, waiting for something- anything to go wrong. He can’t help but to notice how Jughead looks away every time that an adult- his dad, specifically- looks his way, makes him wonder if there’s something happening that Jughead’s not letting on about.

It’s dead silent in the car on the way back to the house. Fred keeps looking back in his rearview mirror, keeping an eye on both of his boys; a nervous pit forms in his stomach when he notices how Jughead is leaning heavily on Archie, blinking owlishly every few seconds. Maybe they shouldn’t have left the hospital yet, maybe they should have asked for a head scan, just to be safe.

“You good back there, Jug?”

“Jus’ tired.”

 “You can sleep when we get home, alright?”

“…m’kay.”

Fred lets it go, tries to focus on the road in front of him.

_Who the hell would go after such a good kid?_

A few minutes later they’re pulling into the driveway. The sun is finally setting behind them, casting a yellow glow against the house. Fred watches as Jughead stumbles trying to get out of the truck, his legs still unsteady from the acts of today. Then, without question, Archie reaches for him, slipping an arm around Jughead’s waist, the other finding his hand and slowly helping him inside.

Fred stands back, watching all of this unfold with sad eyes, thinking: _I wish that life would give these kids a break for once. Just once._

///

They get Jughead settled on the couch after realizing that trying to get him _upstairs_ to Archie’s room would both hurt him and tire him out too much. He curls onto his uninjured side almost as soon as he lays down, facing away from Archie and Fred, already asleep by the time Fred comes to pull a blanket over him.

Fred, despite still being worried about a head injury, just lets Jughead sleep; lord knows that he needs it more than most of the people in this town.

He tries to keep himself busy, doesn’t want to make it obvious that he’s loitering as a means of keeping an eye on Jughead. What can he say? Fred’s always had a soft spot for the kid, always will.

Sometime after ten, Fred comes downstairs with the intent of getting a snack. There should still be some ice cream in the freezer if Archie hasn’t gotten to it already. As he’s passing the living room, he notices something that hadn’t been there before.

Archie, curled up in the armchair across from the couch where Jughead is, dead asleep.

Fred smiles to himself, shaking his head; Archie always has been the protective type, it's one of Fred's favorite things about him, how deeply he cares for others.

He’s in the kitchen when he hears a sharp intake of breath come from the other room, then a groan. Fred turns on his heel, moving towards the sound in a second.

Jughead has his knees pulled closer to him, his fingers prodding at his temple, looking uncomfortable; Fred goes slow, quietly into the room, not wanting to startle Jughead. He touches Jughead’s shoulder carefully, letting him know that he’s there.

“Jughead, you alright?”

“Headache.”

Fred goes back into the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water; Jughead takes it from him with a soft _thank you_ , knocks back two pills then settles into the couch with a sigh. The placebo effect really is undermined these days. Fred sits on the arm of the chair behind him, content to just sit and watch for a while.

Jughead tilts his head back towards Fred as he asks, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Most of the afternoon, it’s almost eleven now. I hate to ask, but what do you remember, Jughead?”

“Not much. The emergency room, that was real, right? My dad was there?”

“Yeah, he was. I can call him, if you want.”

Jughead shakes his head, muttering, “It’s probably better that you didn’t… does he know? About what happened?”

“He knows you got hurt. As far as how though- I’m not sure that anyone does ‘cept for you. Mind filling me in?”

He stalls before saying, “I asked an old snake charmer for a favor. She stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn't have been and got into some hot water, decided to sick some of her dogs on me as payback.”

“Do I wanna know what a snake charmer is?”

“Probably not.”

Fred hums quietly, nodding to himself. He doesn’t get the chance to ask his next question before Jughead is answering it for him.

“I tried to make my Dad’s old charges go away for good. So he wouldn’t have an arrest record anymore. He’s been trying to put it behind him, you know? I just wanted to fix it… to fix something, at least.”

An ache blooms in Fred’s chest. Of course, Jughead would have done all this for his dad, it’s a wonder that he didn’t realize it sooner. He averts his eyes over to Archie still asleep across from them.

_Thick as thieves and loyal as dogs these two, I swear._

“You know it doesn’t fall on you to fix everything, right, Jug? You’re just a kid, you don’t have to carry the whole world on your shoulders."

“Yeah, I guess,” Jughead says, dismissively.

Fred sighs and takes this as his cue to go. He starts moving towards the staircase when Jughead calls out to him again.

“Mr. A?”

“Yeah?”

“…thanks.”

He nods, smiling, “Any time, kiddo. Get some sleep.”

Fred really does have half a mind to stay down there the whole night. To perch himself in a chair and wake Jughead every two hours just to make sure he isn’t concussed. But he doesn’t. He has to trust that his kids are going to be okay with time.

_They’ll be fine,_ he tells himself, _they have to be. I wouldn’t have a reason for being here if these kids weren't around._

**Author's Note:**

> Fred and Jughead's friendship is one of the only things that I care about, honestly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos/Prompts are appreciated and encouraged! You can find me on tumblr as archieandrewsprotectionsquad. Thanks again for reading, have a great day!


End file.
